


The Man On The Balcony (Singing Nobody Will Ever Remember Me)

by ANervousBoysLife



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst, Bipolar Disorder, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Suffering, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 18:22:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6764896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ANervousBoysLife/pseuds/ANervousBoysLife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe Pete had had enough.</p><p>Pete Wentz was diagnosed at thirteen. He'd dealt with the symptoms all his life, suffered through insufficient medications, and struggled with relationships. He had no clue how to fix it.</p><p>Well, he had one idea.</p><p>He meets Patrick Stump just before it's too late.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Man On The Balcony (Singing Nobody Will Ever Remember Me)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who helped me develop this fic and I hope it lived up to my expectations in your mind. This is, by far, the longest I've written at one point in time.
> 
> I hope I didn't offend anyone with this fic, it was not meant to demonize bipolar disorder. The actions of the characters are not solely due to mental disorders, but also due to shitty personalities. 
> 
> Thanks especially to my friend Rosa for helping me be as unproblematic as possible.

Maybe Pete had had enough.

The mania, the episodes where he was so energetic he just wanted to throw his head against the wall until he passed out. The brain crazy fits where he'd be locked in the closet screaming and crying hoping it would all go away. But also the dark episodes, the ones where he'd want to lay in bed all day and do nothing. The times he'd want to just disappear and never come back.

He was diagnosed when he was thirteen.

The room was strange to him. An office where the psychologist sat. She'd said he was bipolar, which explained the days without sleep and the weeks of laying in bed and doing nothing. Pete remembers vividly the look of sadness on his mother's face. She had thought he was broken, a disappointment. Well, at least that's what Pete had concluded. His siblings were in the waiting room. They didn't know how their brother was twisted in the mind. They just knew that the screaming was supposed to stop.

Ever since that day, Pete's been loaded with pills. Sleeping pills, antipsychotics, mood stabilizers. Sometimes the medications failed, and he'd have to try a new one. He'd been on rotation for a little and he hated every minute of it. He'd always have an itch under his skin. Something wasn't right. It wasn't ever right. And he had no clue how to fix it.

Well, he had one idea.

That's how he found himself on the balcony of his friend's apartment at the age of twenty-one. His friend was currently out of town, and Pete was house sitting. He just sat on the ledge, looking down at the busy street below. He wasn't scared, wasn't even worried in the slightest. The noise in his head was growing louder, almost daring him to slip off the edge and plummet, to splatter out on the pavement like eggs on a pan. Maybe he'd land sunny side up.

There was a gasp from the next balcony over, startling Pete so much he nearly slipped off the ledge, causing the source of the gasp to cry out, "No don't!"

The voice sounded younger than him, maybe in their teens. When his eyes wandered to the boy on the other balcony, a cup on the ground by his feet. The boy looked panicked, his wide blue eyes staring at Pete and his hands grasping onto the edge of his own balcony as he looked over. The boy's lips were lush and full, speaking something Pete wasn't focusing on, he had the urge to bite them instead.

"Dude, just sit down on the chair, we can talk about this."

Pete found himself sitting in one of the metal chairs on the balcony, looking over at the boy who seemed to be hesitating on asking something. 

"Can you let me in over there? I'd like to be on the same side as you right now."

Pete nodded numbly, "Door's unlocked." He watched as the red-blonde boy rushed through his own apartment. He wondered what he'd gotten himself into. Soon, the blue eyed boy was sitting across from him, in a chair identical to the one Pete was in.

They spoke for hours on that balcony. Pete told him about his bipolarity, the nights he spend screaming in the closet and banging his head against the wall, the days where all he’d do was hate himself and bury under covers, the days spent awake with energy that could go nowhere, all of it. He told him of the ups and downs, the reckless behavior of his childhood, the on-again-off-again relationship he had with Jeanae, and even how he felt with the pills. 

The kid just… listened. He nodded understandingly at Pete as he spoke, never putting in any input, never even moving from his spot, leaning close to Pete with his arms braced on his knees, like he cared. 

Suddenly, Pete couldn’t help himself. He moved over slowly, closer to the boy, who he’d found out was named Patrick, and placed a hand on his pale neck. The boy looked confused at first, his pale eyebrows knitting together before he suddenly realized what was going on, just as Pete’s lips pressed against his own.

He was tense, that was something Pete could tell immediately. His shoulders were hunched up defensively and his body as solid as ice. Almost as cold too. Then suddenly, he seemed to relax into the kiss, melting almost as his arms laced around Pete’s shoulders and his lips began to reciprocate what Pete was giving him.

Pete couldn’t help but smirk as he bit down on the younger boy’s lip, savoring the moan that came from his mouth. It was like music to his ears, and he couldn’t get enough. It was only until Patrick pushed him away that he stopped, noticing the boy’s lips were swollen and his breathing was heavy. He looked like pure salvation to Pete.

The boy was talking again, and Pete had to will himself to listen instead of imagine all the dirty things he could do to ruin that youthful innocence.

“Wow that was…” He seemed almost entranced as he spoke, almost as if Pete had put a love potion on him, but life was no fairy tale. Pete of all people knew this. Instead of finishing his thought, Patrick leaned in again and picked up from where they left off.

They had somehow ended up making out against the side of Pete’s shitty Jetta. Pete was shuffling through his pockets while looking for his keys as Patrick’s hands seemed to go all over the place. Once Pete had retrieved them, he unlocked his car, pulling apart from Patrick. 

The drive to Pete’s house seemed to go by quickly for both males as Patrick soon found himself pressed up against Pete’s door as Pete slid his hands under the younger’s shirt. This caused an immediate reaction from the pale boy as he arched off the door and into Pete’s hands.

Pete just smirked and opened the door, causing them both to stumble inside, and Pete had to kick the door shut before leading himself and the boy back to his bedroom. Patrick laughed as he almost tripped over a pair of dirty jeans on the floor before toppling onto the bed, looking up at Pete who was crawling over him. 

-

The next morning, Pete woke up to see the younger boy in his bed and let a smug grin crawl over his face. He knew what he did and yet he had no regrets about it. This kid was probably younger than him. He did look it, and from the way he reacted to every touch, he probably hadn’t gotten laid much, if at all.

It was only the small shifting and yawning that alerted Pete that the kid had woken up. _The kid_. He still hadn’t fixed his train of thought to calling him Patrick.

 _Patrick_ rolled over as he woke, rubbing his eyes and stretching out before smiling at Pete. “Good morning.”

Pete simply rolled his eyes when he turned away from him and put on his best sincere act. “Good morning. Breakfast?”

Pete had no intention of keeping this kid around. He thought they were on the same page of _one night stand_ but it seems he was wrong by the way this kid was looking at him.

“So, I was wondering if.. possibly--”

“I don’t want a relationship.” Pete had cut him off. He had to. He knew a relationship wasn’t something he wanted or needed. What he wanted was an easy lay, something to pass the time until he moved onto someone else. A fill in.

Patrick seemed to stop then nodded, “Right, you don’t…” He started to slide out of the bed.

Something-- what that something was, he wasn’t sure-- made Pete reach out and catch the young (seriously, he couldn’t have been out of high school) male by the wrist. The boy looked at him, seeming confused, which he had right to be, and a little hurt. Pete could just make out tears in his eyes, and that had solidified his thoughts on what he was about to do.

He took a deep breath. “I don’t want a relationship with you, but I do want you around. Maybe we could make some arrangements?”

Patrick really must have been a teenager, because the hope that sparked in his eyes just proved his naivety. “Y-yeah, sure.”

That afternoon, Patrick had gone home with a sense of hope that maybe, just maybe, things could turn out for the better. He wanted to change Pete’s mind, and the only way he saw himself doing it was to stay close. So, he did what he could to stay close, which was accept Pete’s offer.

Of course, he knew it wasn’t going to be easy to win over Pete’s affections, but he was a love-sick teenager who had just lost his virginity to a man he had met that day. The funny thing was, Patrick didn’t regret it. He even wanted more. He wanted reckless love on top of a building with no one to witness it but the stars, he wanted late night adventures through the city, he wanted romantic picnics at the park. He wanted it all. Maybe it was a lot to wish for.

-

The next time Patrick heard from Pete, he had gotten a text. It was out of the blue at two a.m. but Patrick had been awake, working on some sheet music no one would hear because the composer was too insecure to put himself out there.

**im on the roof**

Two seconds later, another text was delivered.

**i wanna jump**

Patrick knew exactly which roof Pete was talking about and made his way to the stairwell. He wasn’t about to let him fall again. He just couldn’t. 

He reached the roof, panting heavily and hunched over. When he looked up, he saw Pete, standing on the ledge with his phone in his hand. He looked like he might drop it. He was obviously tired and his limbs were hanging like they were on their last thread. Pete turned when he heard the door open. When Patrick saw his face, he felt his heart drop into his stomach. 

Pete looked… destroyed. His features sat differently over his face, less fixed on and more droopy. There were dark bags under his eyes showing just how little he had slept the night before. He had a bruise forming on his jaw, presumably from getting in a fight. Patrick wasn’t sure where he’d gone to get in such a fight, but it didn’t matter. Right now, Pete was standing on a ledge and that was far too close to falling.

Pete gave him a smile, but it was strange looking on his face. Like a bright red flower in a field of dead ones. “Trick, come here.”

Patrick stepped closer, his feet having a mind of their own and carrying him to Pete. It was almost like he was under a spell. He stopped right before the elevated ledge, looking up at Pete, who’s hand was now extended towards him. “Come up here, I want to show you something.”

Hesitantly, Patrick took his hand and got up, looking down at the streets below and feeling something in his chest, like an underlying urge to jump. He knew it was a bad idea and he would most certainly die, but the feeling was still there. 

“You wanna jump. I can tell.”

Patrick looked up, confused. Pete continued, “We all do. It’s the feeling to have power over something in your life. The power to end it. Everyone feels it at some point, only few do it.”

In a strange way, it made sense. Not many people really did want to die, but they still felt the urge, the need to walk off the edge. 

“Look out, over there.” Pete pointed out at the city. The lights were bright and were the only things that looked anything like stars. Even in the dead of night, the city was still alive with people on the streets and cars driving by. It was beautiful, the colors and the sounds. It was a city, alike to many in the world yet also one of a kind. “It looks so beautiful, but that’s only the outside. You see, this city, like all others, has another side to it, an underbelly if you will. It’s got its crime and gangs, danger around every corner. It’s dark and it’s cruel. It’s far from safe, but it’s home.”

Patrick directed his gaze to Pete, “Can we get down now? You can come over and I’ll make hot chocolate. I’m sure my mom won’t mind.” In the dim light of the night, Patrick looked younger, more innocent to Pete. Of course he knew that, in reality, Patrick wasn’t like that at all, Pete was sure of it, but he could let himself imagine for one night. 

“Alright.”

Patrick lead Pete down the stairwell in which he now realized was extremely grimey. He didn’t expect it to be nice. After all, the apartment he lived in wasn’t that nice either. It was rather small and was barely in Patrick’s mother’s budget, but they were still grateful for it. When they walked through the door and the kitchen lights were on, Patrick knew his mother was awake and probably was worried. 

“Patrick? Honey, is that you?” A female voice called from the kitchen followed by light footsteps. When she arrived to where the two young men were standing, she froze. 

Patricia Stumph was a lovely woman with long hair, the same color as Patrick’s. It was tied up in a bun with plenty of flyaways. Her eyes were a bright blue, lacking the hues of green that Patrick’s had. She had bags under her eyes and seemed tired, adorning a robe and slippers. “You didn’t tell me you had a friend over.”

Pete was about to speak up when Patrick interjected, “Sorry, his parents locked him out on accident. I thought I’d let him crash here since he can’t get in his house.” Patrick threw a small smile to Pete, “We were just about to get hot chocolate.”

Patricia smiled a little, “Don’t you worry about that, I’ll make you boys some. You always tell me about how my hot chocolate is much better than when you make it on your own.” And just like that, Patricia got to making two warm mugs of hot chocolate. As she worked, she spoke over her shoulder, “Oh, I’m Patricia, by the way. You can call me Mom if you’d like.” She gave Pete a heartwarming smile.

“I’m Pete. It’s nice to meet you, Mom.” While Patricia was busy making hot chocolate, the two boys sat down at the kitchen table next to each other. 

Patrick jumped a little when he felt a hand slide into his. When he glanced over at Pete, the older boy was looking over at Patricia, watching as she stirred warm milk into chocolate powder. Patrick simply squeezed Pete’s hand as he watched a smile grow over his face. 

Patricia finished stirring the two mugs of hot chocolate and popped in a few marshmallows before handing them to the two boys. “It’s late, and I have work tomorrow. Get some rest and try to not stay up too late.” She then proceeded to head back into her bedroom, closing the door lightly behind her with a soft click of the latch.

They sat quietly for a while, each sipping their individual mugs of cocoa. The room started to smell of warm chocolate as they sat, and soon both boys were finished. Pete reluctantly let go of Patrick’s hand as the younger male went to go and wash their mugs. He would be lying if he said that he didn’t check out Patrick’s ass while he left. 

While Patrick was cleaning the mugs, Pete had time to think. He felt something in him, it wanted to be closer to Patrick, to have him all to himself. He wanted Patrick almost more than anything, and it was strange. It was strange because only a few minutes before he had been on a ledge and his only thought about Patrick was of his ass. God, what was happening to him? At first he had simply wanted someone to fuck, but now? Now he was in too deep.

Once Patrick came back, he smiled a little and shrugged, “It’s late. We should probably head to bed.” Now that Pete could see him in better light, Patrick did look tired. Pete wasn’t sure if he had woken the boy up or if he had simply been awake already.

Taking Patrick’s hand again, Pete nodded and let him lead the way to his bedroom. Once inside, Patrick fell onto his unmade bed, sinking in and curling around a pillow. He left plenty of room for Pete to slide in.

His room was messy, not in a way that meant he didn’t care, but alike to someone who has too much stuff. He had piles upon piles of CDs and records that lined most of his walls. There was a record player in the corner along with an old tv and a CD player. On the walls were many posters of David Bowie and Prince with various other artists strewn in. Pete took it all in, sitting on the edge of the bed. 

When he turned to lay down, something twisted in his chest. It was familiar but oh-so different, the picture before him. Patrick, pale and beautiful in bed beside Pete, the contrast between them something poetic that, had it been any time but three in the morning, Pete would have been sure to write somewhere. But now, his mind was hazy with the need for sleep and there was a slight ache in his body with the effort to stay awake. He pushed aside his feelings, those of slight guilt and something else that could only be described as want, and curled on his side away from Patrick to sleep peacefully.

 

When Patrick woke up the next morning, it was to see Pete hovering over him with a devious smile on his face. He wasn’t quite sure what about, having just woken up and not being able to think clearly.

Suddenly there was pressure right over his crotch and _oh_ , that’s what he was doing. Pete leaned over him, whispering in his ear, “Arrangements, Tricky.”

 

Patrick left his room an hour later with loose limbs and a goofy expression on his face. He carried himself slowly and relaxed as he made his way to the kitchen for food. Pete sat down at the table, hair messed up entirely beyond saving. He stretched out and watched as Patrick poured two bowls of cereal.

Pete felt something tug at his chest as he watched Patrick, the way he moved and the way his shirt rode up just a little as he stretched to put the cereal box back on the top shelf of the pantry. He found himself staring at the roundness of his thighs and the curve of his back, found himself admiring the shape of his belly and face. Pete soon realized that what he was feeling was more than lust. He hadn’t felt something like this, not even when he first got with Jeanae. What was this feeling?

Once his bowl was set in front of him with a spoon he put all of his focus on the brightly colored food. Pete didn’t dare look up at the boy in front of him who was most likely staring at him and waiting for Pete to say something. Pete wouldn’t say anything. He moved the round O’s around in his bowl, some of them being broken in half while others were connected together. Funny, it’s kind of like people. Most people are alone, unbroken but singular. Some people have truly found who they want to be with forever, connected. But some, the unfortunate few, are met only to be broken under the pressure of society. 

It’s probably time to go home once you get philosophical over cereal.

He pushed his chair out from under himself, standing and letting his arms rise over his head as he stretched. “Well, that was fun. I’ll see you next time, Tricky.”

Patrick didn't have time to say anything else as Pete quickly kissed his cheek then ran out of the apartment, the slam of the door echoing through the small space. Patrick simply lifted a pale hand, placing it on his cheek as he stared at the closed door.

-

The next few weeks are filled with vague texts that Patrick can only assume are lyrics. Pete had told him he was a poet, lyricist, author, and more, and now Patrick was convinced. Each little message was tinged with the hint of a story.

**kissed a girl tonight. almost said he tastes like you only sweeter**

**ive got troubled thoughts, u got the self esteem to match**

**wanna go to hollywood. meet a lotta stars, but im a black hole**

Eventually, the vague little texts turned to short phone calls where Pete would explain the small phrases. Patrick could always hear the scribbling of a pencil right after Pete said something that sounded catchy or just meant a lot to him. Sometimes the words didn’t make sense to the younger male, but he knew that Pete had a way of encrypting the true meaning behind his words, something Patrick had grown to admire.

Pete started giving Patrick pages full of writing. It was all in his hardly legible handwriting, but it was good enough. Pete wasn’t sure why he was suddenly trusting Patrick with something so personal, so private that it held every thought that had ever entered his mind. It just seemed to work that way, Pete would open up to Patrick quickly. He saw it as an easy way for the boy to push him away, tell him he was too much to handle. Pete thought of it as making it easier for the both of them, as a warning.

Patrick doesn’t seem to pick up on warnings too well, Pete’s noticed.

Patrick understood how self deprecating Pete could be, had seen it in person. Hell, he’d basically made Pete tell him after the whole stunt with the balcony. Since then, Patrick had tried to make Pete feel better about himself. Pete wouldn’t have it, never would. He saw Patrick as if he didn’t understand the world fully yet, and maybe he didn’t. In Pete’s mind, Patrick probably saw everything as if it was some sort of story with a happy ending, a fairy tale.

It’s not a fairy tale.

Even still, Pete wanted to preserve that in him, his ability to see the light in everything when all Pete could see was the cold, bitter dark.

-

It was a night as dark and gloomy as Pete’s internal monologue. Each new thought brought on an onslaught of insults into his brain. Worthless. No good. Despicable. Manipulative. They all ran through his brain until he couldn’t take it anymore. The medication was supposed to be working, but yet again, it’s not.

Pete couldn’t take being contained within the four walls of his home anymore. Each was painted with memories of things he’d done, things he’d regretted, things that made him feel worse about himself. Mistakes, all of them were, but he couldn’t change them or heal the deep wounds that had been made.

He found himself at Patrick’s front door, clutching his phone and his keys tightly in one hand. He was shaking from the cool night air. Pete’s socked feet were soaked. It seemed he had forgotten to wear shoes.

By the time the door opened, Pete stumbled inside, attaching himself to Patrick immediately. Shocked, Patrick hugged Pete back, pressing his face into the curve of Pete’s neck and taking a deep breath. Pete smelled as he usually did, a combination of coffee, cinnamon, dirty laundry, sweat and a hint of something else that couldn’t be found out all to swirl together into a scent Patrick could only call _Pete_.

Shaking, Pete pressed closer. He wasn’t just shaking from the cold, but from crying as well. Patrick hadn’t seen him cry before. He knew he was hurting, but hadn’t seen him this vulnerable. Not even on the balcony or the roof.

“I’m a horrible person, Trick. I’m a horrible person.” 

Patrick shushed him, rubbing light, comforting circles on his back through the thin fabric of his shirt. Patrick found himself being grateful that his mother worked late that night, pulling Pete to his bedroom so that they could lie down and talk. Pete needed warmth, and Patrick’s bed could provide just that.

As the two boys lumbered into the bed, Pete curled into Patrick. He looked even smaller than before, Patrick noticed. He hunched in on himself and clung to Patrick like a lifeline. It tore Patrick up in a way that was totally different than before, different than the roof or balcony. This was Pete at his weakest, shaking and crying, but instead of going up in some reckless attempt to end it, he came to Patrick, and that spoke volumes about what Patrick meant to Pete.

“Pete, you’re not a horrible person. You’re just in pain,” pausing to consider the question, Patrick continued, “Did you take your medication?”

“Didn’t work,” Pete murmured quietly, “hasn’t been working. ‘M brain feels fuzzy ‘nd it’s gonna get worse.”

Patrick remained quiet. He didn’t know what to say, never really had to. Pete had always just talked it through to him before calming down, but it didn’t seem to be helping. It was almost as if he was holding himself back from spilling what was really on his mind.

Suddenly, there was a quiet mumble against Patrick’s chest, just barely audible. Pete did want Patrick to hear what he was saying, but he was reluctant to admit it. 

“I think love you, Trick.”

It was a shock to Patrick, so quiet it could have been his imagination, but it wasn’t. Even Patrick’s own mind wasn’t that cruel to him. He had heard correctly. Taking advantage of Pete’s current state seemed too low to Patrick, even if this was really what he wanted. Instead of saying anything else, he placed a light kiss to the top of Pete’s head, hoping that the emotions he was trying to convey were received. 

And Pete slept.

 

Warmth was surrounding Pete when he woke up, soft and pale skin wrapped around him loosely under a thick comforter that was mostly around himself. It didn’t take long for Pete to recognize where he was; Patrick’s house. As the older man looked at the pale boy, he realized just what had happened the night before. His medication wasn’t working and in his fit of despair, he revealed his most private thoughts. Patrick knew. 

Not only did Patrick know, but he didn’t say it back. Had Pete mistaken what Patrick had wanted all along, or did he finally drive him away? Whatever it was, it was his own fault that Patrick hadn’t said it back. He was sure of it.

This wasn’t how he had expected it to go at all. Pete had thought Patrick was going to push him away and kick him out. That, or confess his everdying love for him, going off and getting married and living happily ever after. If only, but life isn’t a fairytale. Never was, never will be. 

Pushing his way out from the embrace of Patrick and the comforter was hard, but it had to be done. There was nothing else for him to do, and he sure as hell didn’t want to stick around for the morning-after routine. They hadn’t even done anything, so why would it be worth it to stick around for breakfast? _Patrick wouldn’t want that_ , he told himself.

Just as Pete started to slip out of bed, Patrick stirred, rubbing his tired eyes before lifting them to meet Pete’s gaze. “Pete?” His voice was a mere croak as he had just awoke from a deep slumber, “You’re not leaving, are you?”

The way Patrick’s green-blue eyes bore into Pete’s soul made him stop and shake his head, a tug in his chest urging him to stay. “No, ‘m not leaving.” He climbed back into the warm softness of the bed, wrapping himself around the small boy who remained there. 

“I love you…” Patrick mumbled as he pressed his pale face into the pillows that rested underneath his head, the smell of detergent filling his nostrils in an oddly relaxing way. As Pete slid a hand up his back, Patrick knew that Pete loved him too, even if he hadn’t uttered the words right back.

The two of them just laid back in companionable silence, listening to each other’s breathing and counting their heartbeats. A single tanned finger traced over the pale skin above Patrick’s hipbone and he moved into it, relishing in the touch. A quiet yet beautiful melody was hummed as the younger boy snuggled closer to the tan man who ran his other hand through the strawberry blond hairs atop the boy’s head. For once in Pete’s life, the constant humming in his head seemed to stop. For once, he seemed satisfied.

Satisfaction is something that is short lived, as we all know. 

-

Pete, now completely sure of his feelings, never hesitated to take the opportunity to express his admiration, his love for Patrick. Every chance he got, he’d pepper the younger man with kisses and have his affections showered upon him constantly. Patrick, as would any normal person with a predictable psychology, slowly became accustomed to Pete’s affections, his blush still visible but he’d slowly stopped shrugging off every compliment he received. He was starting to believe Pete, which was wonderful, for the most part.

The thing was, when you finally get your way, things become boring. There’s no more thrill, no more excitement. It’s like fighting for the same prize over and over again, but the fight gets easier and the award is less rewarding. 

Things simmered down between the two, you could say. They didn’t go back to how they were, not by a long shot. Compliments turned into small kisses on the cheek. Long, steamy make-out sessions turned to cuddling while watching old movies on Pete’s television. And the sex? It had slowed to a complete stop once the two had started to officially date. It wasn’t that either of them necessarily didn’t want it, they did. There was just no rush to get to it. They had forever, and they planned to take it slow from there on out.

 

Forever seems like such a long time when you think about it, but it’s not always true.

-

Two warm bodies laid in a single large bed with walls that whispered to the single pair of waking ears. It seemed like an eternity since the walls had spoken, told of what they had seen and heard. It felt like an eternity since the walls even spewed a tiny thought. The body the working ears were attached to looked haunted, sleep had not come to him in many days. His eyes looked hollow and lifeless, his hair was matted and greasy, sticking in clumps to his head. As the single waking body rolled onto his side, he gazed at the calm, sleeping being next to him.

Although the two bodies were unclothed in the cool night air, the sleeping figure did not seem naked, for he wore the cloth of comfort and stability. Pete envied the younger’s ability to seem so at peace, even during the night when his own demons seemed to haunt his very being. He hated it. 

As the tanner male kept his eyes on the one he called his love, he felt something in the pit of his stomach, something foul and cruel welling up inside of himself. It was a feeling he had only felt towards himself before, way back when his family still considered him a danger, and it scared him.

Suddenly, the large bed squeaked quietly at the motion of the once idle body. Patrick moved towards Pete and curled up to his chest. All of Pete’s thoughts came to a halt as pale arms wrapped around his middle and a soft sigh escaped perfectly sculpted lips.

It was probably just the walls. 

As much as he tried, Pete couldn’t will himself to sleep. He didn’t want to get up and grab his sleep aid, as it would wake Patrick. He’d rather not have to explain what was going through his head right now, even he didn’t understand it himself. So, to keep himself from going mad or waking the sleeping beauty, Pete wrote poems in his head. He wrote them only to have them disappear within seconds after the words hit the blank page of his mind. He did this for hours until finally he found himself drifting off in the early morning light. 

When he awoke the next morning, Patrick slowly blinked his eyes open to gaze at the calm face of his boyfriend. He couldn’t stop himself as he stroked one of his tan cheeks with the back of his hand, noticing the dark bags underneath his eyes. A frown pulled at the edges of his mouth as he sat up slowly, examining the rest of Pete to make sure he was okay. He found himself wondering what time Pete had gone to bed the night earlier as he climbed out of bed, headed towards the kitchen to make himself a pot of coffee.

Patrick jumped, his knee colliding with the bottom of the table as a large crash sounded through the house. “Ah, _shit_!” 

Staggering to his feet, Patrick slowly limped upstairs to find Pete staring at himself in one of the large, unshattered bits of the mirror, all of his pill bottles on the floor surrounding him. The mirror had been punched in, stained with crimson and dripping. Pete’s own hand was also covered in blood, dark around his knuckles.

“Pete? Babe? What’s the matter?”

As Pete slowly turned towards Patrick, he realized something was different and he wasn't sure what it was. He looked angry and scared all at once, his nostrils flaring and eyes wide. The words bipolar disorder flashed through his mind, but he realized this had to be something else, something entirely worse. 

“Pete?” He called quietly, hoping for any sign his boyfriend was okay.

Pete slowly advanced towards Patrick, going expressionless as he stood face to face with the paler boy. He was unreadable as thoughts ran through his head. 

“Leave me the fuck alone.” He backed into the bathroom again and slammed the door. Patrick stared at the plain blank wood for a minute, trying to comprehend what had just happened before lifting a fist to knock on the door. He stopped himself as he realized it wasn’t worth it. Pete wouldn’t open anyways.

 

“Patrick I’m sorry,” Pete stood in the doorway, reddening bandages around his knuckles with his fist held protectively to his chest, “I don’t know what got into me.”

As Patrick looked over his shoulder from his computer, he saw how sorrowful Pete was. His head was hanging low as he messed with the bandages. “I’m not sure what got into you either.” He went back to his work on his bulky laptop, typing away at some document.

Pete stood still for a moment before sighing. “I just... “

“Don’t try to excuse it. Just don’t do it again.”

Pete stood in the doorway for a moment longer, looking lost as he tried to find the words to describe his own thoughts. “Do you still love me?”

Patrick sighed, closing the laptop and turning so he was totally facing Pete. “Yes, I still love you. Just because I’m not happy with you doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I don’t care what your mind is telling you, I do love you.” He looked Pete over before holding out his arms, “C’mere, let’s hug it out.”

As Pete carried himself over to Patrick and let himself be wrapped in his arms, he couldn’t help feeling like everything was going to be okay from there on out. His sights, for once in his life, were bright. Patrick would forgive him, everything was going to be okay.

Right?

Of course it would be.

 

Or not. 

“You-- You asshole!”

The words shook the house with much more force than one would expect from the exterior of the small teen who shouted them. Well, in all honesty he was an adult now, both legally and mentally. Patrick had moved in with Pete on his eighteenth birthday with approval from his mother, which took a lot of pleading on both ends. It seemed now that might have been a bad idea.

“I’m the asshole? I’m not the one who spends weeks on his computer doing god knows what! You don’t even look at me when you do!” 

Pete shook. Being ignored was a sign that Patrick no longer loved him, that he didn’t want to be around anymore. It scared him. The thought of being left alone with the voices that ran through his head telling him that he’s nothing, that’s the scariest thing in the world. Patrick knew that, didn’t he? Yet he would leave him alone with his thoughts? 

Pete clenched his fists. “Say something!” He watched Patrick’s blank face. He looked emotionless, like a wall. Tears were pricking at Pete’s eyes and he could hardly stand to look at Patrick. Patrick, who had everything he had ever wanted; a stable mind, a sense of security, endless love. Pete was envious of it.

“Say something! Please!” His voice was growing hoarse at the yelling, cracking like cement as the tears started to flow down his red cheeks to his chin where they collected and dropped onto his shirt.

“Just because I’m busy doesn’t mean I don’t love yo--”

“Bullshit! You hate me! Everyone does! I hate me!” He wiped at the tears that stained his cheeks violently, collecting globs of snot along with it. “You hate me and I know it.”

“I don’t. I just--”

_SMACK_

A hand flew to his cheek as Patrick recoiled, shock the only emotion written across his face. Everything else was masked behind the stiffness of his features. Inside, he was terrified. The only person he had ever trusted like his own family had just hurt him. And why? Because he had outright ignored him.

Pete stumbled away quickly in horror of what he had just done. “I-I…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the statement and weakly motioned to the dark wooden door behind himself. He quickly exited the house as fast as he could, not wanting to watch as his own love left him due to some stupid reaction of his.

Patrick just stood, one hand cupping his reddening cheek as he stared at the dark wood door. Finally, his facade was cracked as he broke down into tears. Sobs ripped through his entire body. He didn't know what to think. His lover, his best friend, had just betrayed him in one of the most cruelest ways known to man. He had physically hurt him, and there was no taking it back. the damage was done. The only thing left that could possibly right this wrong was for Pete to apologize, and even that wasn't a guarantee that things would get better. 

Coming to his right mind, Patrick ran off and grabbed an ice pack. He proceeded to ice his cheek, wincing when the cold touched his inflamed skin. The tears had subsided and he found himself staring blankly at the wall while sitting on the couch. His mind was blank, and the silence was anything but bliss. He felt empty. Empty and hurt. 

Despite everything that had recently occurred, Patrick found one thing he could do. Wait. He stayed in the couch, contemplating the pros and cons of watching television before deciding against it. He’d wait for Pete all night, it’s not like he had much else to do.

As he waited, he thought back to the incident that had occurred just hours before. Pete hit him, physically hurt him. What had he done to deserve it? Right, he ignored Pete. The longer he sat, the more he came to think of it as his fault. Just because he couldn’t give Pete the time of day. It made sense, he’d be hurt too.

 

He must have fallen asleep at some point during the night, as he was startled from his sleep by the slam of a heavy door being shut. It couldn’t be past three in the morning as a drunken figure stumbled into the livingroom. With him carried the stench of alcohol as he stood in front of Patrick. The younger man could pick out all the details that would identify this man as Pete through his sleepy haze, yet as he looked into his eyes, he found no one but an empty body, no recognition of who he once was.

Pete blinked at him. Slowly, it seemed he returned to who he once was, to the Pete that Patrick once knew. He fell onto the couch and hugged Patrick tightly.

“‘M so sorry, ‘Trick. I didn’ mean t’ hit you…” Pete pressed his face to the younger man’s shoulder, which was becoming suspiciously more and more wet.

Patrick simply shushed him and climbed off the couch, laying the drunk man on his side while shoving a pillow under his head. He ran off into the kitchen, the cool tile hitting his feet as he walked. The small pitter-patter of his feet hitting the floor filled the room. Grabbing a glass, he filled it with water and brought it back into the livingroom. 

Helping him up, Patrick held the glass to Pete’s cracked lips. “Drink,” he whispered softly, “it’ll keep you from feeling like shit later.”

“I feel like shit now…” Pete mumbled before reluctantly drinking the cool water. It ran down his throat smoothly, different to how the alcohol had. Some collected near the corners of his lips, threatening to spill down his face and onto his shirt.

Patrick hushed him and lead the drunk man to the bedroom, “Shh, I know, I know. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

As the pair stumbled into bed, Patrick found himself unable to rest. He looked at the ceiling, deep in thought. His mind was deliberating over every aspect of his new life, and he found himself mulling over the events of the day before. He hadn’t a clue what to think, and as he ran these thoughts over and over, he slowly slipped into a state of unconsciousness.

-

Weariness was something Patrick had grown accustomed to. He had always thought adulthood would give someone new life and energy, but he felt the total opposite. Constantly walking on eggshells, he hoped not to break a single thing in the home’s seemingly calm demeanor. He only spoke when spoken to. Only left when granted permission. Only ate when accompanied. Never talked back. Never complained. It was almost as if he were with another, stricter parent.

He had learned from his mistakes, of course. Had the rules laid out one by one as each was broken. Tentative steps were taken to be sure they were never broken again, as they were almost always accompanied by some sort of verbal punishment. 

Alike to the time Patrick went to lunch with his mother.

He had innocent intentions, of course. Go out to lunch, catch up on what’s been going on in both of their lives. It had all been running smoothly until Patrick’s phone started buzzing angrily in his pocket. Seeing the caller ID, he immediately got worried. Had Pete gotten himself into trouble? Were his thoughts screaming at him again? What he injured?

Holding his phone to his ear, Patrick held a hand up and hit the answer button.

“Where the fuck are you?” Pete’s voice growled from the other end of the line, “I looked everywhere for you!”

Patrick slowly turned so that he could look away from his mother while trying to explain where he was to Pete. “Please calm down, I went out to lunch wi--”

“Calm down? You’re asking _me_ to calm down? For fuck’s sake you could have been dead!”

“But I’m not and I’m at lunch with my mom.” He could hear the heavy breathing on the other line as his hand shook. Was Pete that worried?

“Come home. Now.” It wasn’t a question, it wasn’t an option. It was a command, and he had to obey. The line went dead and Patrick sighed. 

“There’s an emergency at home, Mom. I gotta go.” They said their goodbyes and Patricia sent him on his way with a kiss to the cheek. As he walked home, he could only hope for the best.

 

Entering the home, he closed the door slowly, as to not make too much noise. Although his efforts to enter quietly failed as he heard heavy footsteps coming his way. “Patrick!”

Stumbling toward the entryway, Pete looked in utter disarray. His clothing looked thrown on and sloppy, his hair unstraightened so his wild curls sprung free about his head. His eyeliner was smudged so badly it looked like he’d been punched in the face. Maybe he had been. Patrick found himself hoping so without realizing why.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving, much less where you went?” It was a question, but it sure as hell didn’t sound like one. “You could have been _dead_ and I would be left alone and end up killing myself!” It was an empty threat, but the look in Pete’s eyes said otherwise. Patrick had thought he was getting better, had thought things had changed. Obviously not.

“I’m not dead,” Mistake number one: talking back, “I didn’t die and I left you a note. Right on the fridge.” Mistake number two: attitude. 

Hands settled by Pete’s side, clutching together into fists as he tried in vain to control his already out of hand temper. “You think I’m gonna look at the fridge when you could have left me? For good? Who the fuck do you think I am?”

“Maybe a normal person who’s first thought in the morning isn’t ‘Where’s my boyfriend? I don’t know maybe he’s dead!’ Maybe someone who makes breakfast in the morning! Someone who calls without threatening the person they love!” 

Pete had gone deadly silent. His eyes had lost all light in them and seemed as dark at the murky waters of the ocean, only lacking the blue hue that gives it any resemblance to water. They were two lifeless cesspools that lead into an even darker soul. 

Patrick slowly backed away, “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I--”

“You what?” Pete growled. He started to shake, “You hate me. You don’t love me anymore. I’m the only person who cares about you, Patrick! The only one!” He gripped onto Patrick’s wrists with a bruising force. It made the younger boy flinch as he met Pete’s eyes. 

“I do love you, I do. I promise…”

Pete let go of him, “You better. I’d kill myself if you didn’t.”

That had been the last straw. “You know what, why don’t you?” He was shaking as well, his fists clenched together tightly. He kept his gaze steady, not backing down. 

Pete glared right back before heading to the bedroom. He kept the door opened partially before looking at Patrick. His eyes held pure hurt. His expression looked broken.

Taking the opportunity to keep the last words, Patrick whispered quietly. “I wish I had never stopped you from jumping.”

Pete nodded solemnly, “Yeah. Me too.”

Pete left a few minutes later. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, missing socks and tears staining his cheeks. 

That night, as Patrick settled into bed, he spotted a note on his pillow. Pete still hadn’t come home. As he opened the note he read aloud to himself.

“I’m just the man on the balcony, singing nobody will ever remember me…”


End file.
